Rex found her in the training hall exactly one hour later. The space was cavernous, filled with the sharp tang of sweat and floor wax, lit only by the pale, sickly glow of the moon filtering through the high windows.
Aurelia was alone, a solitary figure caught in the rhythm of violence. She was running the same brutal conditioning drills he had run through himself the week before—drills designed to break a person before they were built.
Her movements were sharp, mechanical, and surgically controlled, but beneath that technical precision lurked something feral. Every strike against the heavy leather sandbag carried the echo of a scream; every pivot was too fast, too desperate, as if she were trying to outrun the ghost of her own choices.
Rex watched her from the arched doorway, his silhouette motionless. He didn't speak immediately, letting the wet thwack of her fists against leather fill the silence.
